


Monty Python and the Twins

by Tyrrlin



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-16
Updated: 2007-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:01:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29960640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyrrlin/pseuds/Tyrrlin
Summary: The Twins watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail and are now amusing themselves, to the other Autobots' confusion and dismay.
Kudos: 1





	1. Ironhide's Tale

**Author's Note:**

> This fic began as a one-shot that was written in response to the Use this Line challenge on The Padded Cell. The line was "One 'Monty Python' quote and I'll rip off your manifold." This one-shot turned into a multi-chapter story, since most readers wanted a continuation of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's antics.
> 
> First published on fanfiction 'dot' net waaay back in 2007. I'm transferring it here.

Ironhide was in the medbay when it started. A loud metallic clank echoed through the hallway outside Ratchet’s domain, followed by another…then another. The old warrior and medic exchanged a glance that left neither the wiser to the commotion, then they both succumbed to curiosity and went to peer out into the wide hallway. “What the oil-drenched drain pan?” Ironhide exclaimed.

Sideswipe trudged down the large orange corridor pushing a makeshift wheel-cart in front of him, grinning furiously. The cart was shoddily constructed out of rusted junk, barely able to wheel down the level hallway without an audio-twisting number of clicks, squeaks and jitters. Every few astroseconds he would beat an Autobot-sized cowbell and call out. As the red Lamborghini moved closer, Ironhide was able to make out what Sideswipe was chanting.

>CLANK< “Bring out your dead!”

>CLANK< “Bring out your dead!”

“What is he doing?” whispered Ratchet to Ironhide, intensely confounded. Ironhide could only shrug, causing the medic to duck back inside the bay, muttering Cybertronian curses under his breath. Ironhide leaned against the doorframe, curious.

>CLANK< “Bring out your dead!”

“Here’s one.” With that line, Sunstreaker appeared from a side hallway carrying a very un-amused Gears. The Minibot, draped over Sunstreaker’s left shoulder with his arms bound, was feebly struggling and looked to be monstrously unhappy to have been caught up in whatever the Twins were doing this time.

“Nine pence,” replied Sideswipe, holding out one hand.

“I’m not dead,” protested Gears, attempting to break out of Sunstreaker’s grasp.

“What?” Sideswipe peered over the cart at Sunstreaker.

”Nothing, here’s your nine pence.” Juggling the Minibot on his shoulder, Sunstreaker mimed taking something out of subspace and handing it to Sideswipe.

“I’m not dead,” repeated Gears, more insistently. He kicked once before Sunstreaker rather emphatically stilled the draped Minibot’s feet.

“Here, he says he’s not dead,” argued Sideswipe, still subspacing the “something” but proceeding to start the cart back down the hall. Sunstreaker deftly stepped in front of the cart, blocking its path.

“Yes he is,” insisted Sunstreaker, waving one arm in mock ferocity.

“I’m not,” began Gears, but was quieted by a not-too-gentle nudge from Sunstreaker.

“He isn’t?” queried Sideswipe loudly, not quite hiding his grin at the proceedings.

“Well, he will be soon, he’s very ill,” countered Sunstreaker, getting into the spirit of the game. It was FUN to torture Minibots, Gears in particular, who was inadvertently playing along so very nicely…up to this point.

Gears had had enough. “Let me DOWN!” He kicked violently, raising his bound arms up and bringing them down with a loud THUMP on Sunstreaker’s back. Sunstreaker scowled. NOW things just became Unfunny: that was a new paint job! The Twins paused, then with a mischievous smirk to their rapt audience of one confused Ironhide, Sideswipe clonked Gears on his reset relay, rendering the struggling Autobot unconscious. Sunstreaker unceremoniously dumped the red-blue Minibot in the cart and turned to his brother.

“That didn’t go well, bro,” he observed, dusting off his hands and twisting to try and get a look at his back. “He didn’t stick to the script!” The two Lamborghini twins traipsed down the hallway, leaving Gears and the cart right outside of medbay.

“Better luck next time, I guess,” consoled Sideswipe.

Aha, thought Ironhide, returning to medbay, movie night was last night.

oOoOo

Red Alert frantically summoned Ironhide to his observation station the next day, rousing the grumbling warrior from a rather pleasant recharge session. “What’s got your sensors in a knot this time?” grumbled Ironhide. He wasn’t too fond of Red Alert, no one was, but he was duty-bound to respond to any…and all… of Red’s calls.

Red Alert called up the front approach monitor. “Look!” he cried, pointing out a cloud of dust. “What are they doing?!?”

Ironhide took the seat next to Red Alert and peered at the monitor. Far, far out near the horizon, a dust cloud approached the front entryway to the Ark. It was one of the Lamborghini Twins, Ironhide would bet his next ration of Energon on it. He couldn’t tell which one, but it was approaching fast, the dust cloud growing in size. He was about to turn the screen off when Red Alert stopped him. “Red, it’s just one of the twins driving back here.”

“No, no, no, you don’t understand! Look!” Red cried, grabbing Ironhide’s arm and pointing back to the main screen.

Ironhide suppressed a sigh, reclaimed his arm, and dutifully looked at the main camera angle. He wiped his optics and looked again. The dust cloud was back on the verge of the horizon, farther out than just a few microseconds before, approaching fast. As Ironhide watched, the cloud again increased in size, obviously one of the Twins but indeterminate as to which one. “What the?”

“No, don’t look away!” cried Red Alert as the two mechs met optics. “Slag it!”

Ironhide and Red Alert both looked back up at the screen. The approaching Lamborghini dust cloud was back on the horizon’s edge, approaching fast. Red Alert’s helm sensors went into overload, sparking and blazing a variety of colored flashes. “No…not possible…they’re driving me crazy…”

Ironhide was NOT amused to have to drag the Security director to medbay and Ratchet’s tender mercies. Amazingly, both Twins met him at the door to the observation station with enormous grins on their faces. One look at the aggravation on Ironhide’s face and Red Alert’s fritzing condition decided them. “Run away, run away!” they cried heartily, prancing…yes, prancing down the hallway.

oOoOo

Ironhide found the movie still in the player, the case tossed carelessly on the table in the Dayroom. It was almost always bad news when the Twins got their hands on a new movie. This one was no exception. “’Monty Python and the Holy Grail.’ Humans have the strangest ideas of humor,” he rumbled, replacing the movie in its case and placing it back on the shelf with similar movies. “How long is this trend going to last?” he grumbled, tromping to Teletran-1’s bay for his second shift in a row. Red Alert was still in medbay, and Ironhide was mightily irritated to have to pull both his and Red’s duties because the Twins found a new hobby.

oOoOo

Clop-clop, clop-clop

Clop-clop, clop-clop

Clop-clop, clop-clop

Oh, Primus. Ironhide could not believe his sensors. Sideswipe came skipping up the hall into Teletran-1’s main bay, one hand held limp-wristed in front of him as if holding an imaginary set of reins. What was even more amazing was the sight of a slightly hunched over Bluestreak, following closely behind, banging two halves of some sort of Earth nutshell together. That’s what was making the noise. Sideswipe came to a halt a few feet from Ironhide and held up his other hand, causing Bluestreak to halt with a great clatter of nutshell halves. Sideswipe opened his mouth…

“One ‘Monty Python’ quote and I’ll rip off your manifold,” threatened Ironhide, too irritated to even TRY and figure out where this particular scene was going. He spun back around to face Teletran’s screen, keeping one sensor on the two jokers.

Sideswipe visibly judged his options. Coming to a conclusion, he shrugged, motioned to Bluestreak and, with much clattering of nut halves, skipped back out of Teletran’s bay. Ironhide pinched his temple plates between his fingers. He hoped the next new movie would be a nice, solemn drama.


	2. Wheeljack's Tale

Wheeljack and Ratchet were re-soldering the connections Red Alert fried with his latest panic attack when Grimlock stomped into medbay. The Dinobot leader made his way single-mindedly towards the two mechanics, determination in every trudging step. He stopped a few paces from where Red Alert lay prone on the examination table and crossed his arms, tapping one finger in irritation on the opposite forearm. When Wheeljack and Ratchet looked up to acknowledge him, he started without preamble. “Me, Grimlock, got problem. You, Wheeljack help me, Grimlock, and other Dinobots?”

Wheeljack put down his soldering scalpel and left Red Alert to Ratchet’s tender care. He approached Grimlock, wiping his hands on a large oil-stained cloth. “Sure, Grimlock, what can I do for ya?”

Grimlock motioned for Wheeljack to follow him and tromped out of the medbay in the direction of the front entrance to the Ark. “Wheeljack remember when me, Grimlock, say Dinobots’ swords go missing? Slag and Snarl most upset when they lose swords.” The hulking Dinobot smacked his fist into his opposite palm in anger.

Wheeljack nodded, trotting to keep up with Grimlock’s ground-eating strides. “Yeah, we looked all over for ‘em. Did you find them?” He nearly collided with Grimlock’s left arm as the Dinobot came to an abrupt halt at the entrance to the Ark.

“Yes. But me, Grimlock, not know what _they_ doing with them.” One long, powerful arm pointed to the training and range area tucked around the side of Mt. St. Hillary. “We go.” He strode off, a very curious Wheeljack close behind.

The two Autobots rounded the corner to the training area, coming up to its entrance. Built slightly into the mountain face itself, it included a sparring pit, target range, and even a small obstacle course. The entrance to the training area led to a relatively narrow split pathway, which initially opened on the sparring pit; the firing range lying farther along the same path. Wheeljack’s optics widened as he witnessed Sideswipe in the first pit, battering a heavy wooden sparring construct with a large red sword. Slag’s sword, to be precise. Wheeljack knew that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker preferred to fight hand-to-hand, but he never guessed they were interested in swordwork. “Wow!” was all he could say at the sight.

Grimlock crossed his arms again. “Me not know why him, Sideswipe, need Slag’s sword. He plenty good fighter already….for an Autobot,” he added derisively. He paused for a moment, scanning the area. “But me not see Sunstreaker. Don’t those two always go together?”

Wheeljack peered around for the yellow twin. “Yeah, usually. Where you see one, there’s…wow!” At that exclamation, Sideswipe neatly cleaved the substantial sparring dummy in half with one powerful sweep of his sword. The red Lamborghini flourished the sword and stood at parade rest, the red blade gently held centered, point down. He watched down the path towards the rifle range, unmoving. Wheeljack prevented Grimlock from storming down the hill to confront Sideswipe and whispered, “Wait, let’s see what happens now. He’s up to something.”

Grimlock grumbled, but stood quietly next to the Lancia, glaring down into the sparring pit. “He always up to something.”

Clop-clop, clop-clop

Clop-clop, clop-clop

Clop-clop, clop-clop

Wheeljack could not believe his optics. Sunstreaker, wearing Snarl’s sword at his hip, came saltating up the path from the rifle range, one hand held somewhat stiffly in front of him. Bluestreak, slightly hunched over, followed doggedly, his arms outstretched as he rhythmically pounded two halves of a coconut together. Sunstreaker came up to Sideswipe, halting before him (with a clatter of coconut halves from Bluestreak) and stepped oddly to one side. When he stopped, Bluestreak wandered off to hide behind another wooden construct, avidly watching the scene between the two sword-wielding twins.

Wheeljack chuckled to himself, headfins flashing. _This should be good. It’s always amusing when the Twins argue, and whatever they have on Bluestreak to make him do…whatever he’s doing… just adds to the fun!_

Sunstreaker planted himself in front of Sideswipe, who proceeded to look through the yellow warrior as if he weren’t there. He spoke in a hearty voice, easily heard by both Wheeljack and Grimlock. “You fight with the strength of many men, sir knight”

Sideswipe said nothing, still standing at the position he assumed after cleaving the practice dummy.

Sunstreaker puffed a bit, then continued. “I am Arthur, King of the Britons.”

_What the retro-reavers? Does Sunstreaker have a kink in his cortex?_ thought Wheeljack. Sideswipe continued to ignore his brother, staring silently straight ahead with a fixed expression.

Seemingly undaunted, the yellow twin continued in a loud voice. “I seek the finest and the bravest knights in the land to join in my court at Camelot.”

Pause. Grimlock and Wheeljack exchanged a baffled look.

“You have proved yourself worthy. Will you join me?” Sunstreaker’s voice carried a hint of entreaty, which Wheeljack had never heard from the yellow Lamborghini. Sideswipe was the master of wheedling, but apparently Sunstreaker could also manage those same pathos-ridden tones…when he wanted to.

Sideswipe remained as a statue, staring straight through his twin, saying nothing. Sunstreaker gave his twin a long, measuring look before shrugging and gesturing to Bluestreak. “You make me sad. So be it. Come, Patsy.” Sunstreaker made to step around Sideswipe as Bluestreak came out from his hiding place.

_Patsy? Great Primus!_ Wheeljack nearly missed Sideswipe’s reply; he was trying so hard to smother his laughter. Grimlock merely looked confused at the exchange up to this point. “They fighting?” he asked, looking back and forth from Wheeljack to the tableau on the path. Wheeljack shrugged.

Sunstreaker didn’t take more than a half step before he was stopped. In a hard, carrying voice, Sideswipe intoned, “None shall pass.”

“What?” Sunstreaker sounded shocked. Wheeljack didn’t blame him. Very few Autobots had the temerity to talk back to the sour-tempered yellow warrior. They must have had something big happen for Sideswipe to be in that big a snit.

“None shall pass.” The words intoned like a death knell. Sideswipe remained in his stance, blocking the path out from the training area.

Sunstreaker tried again, explaining in a reasonable tone, “I have no quarrel with you, good sir knight, but I must cross this bridge.”

_What bridge?_ Wheeljack thought. The path was clear and level to either side.

“Then you shall die.” Sideswipe glared at his brother, settling his heels a little deeper into the gravel on the path.

Sunstreaker demanded angrily, waving his left arm, “I command you, as king of the Britons, to stand aside!”

_Okay, these two have got to be acting,_ thought Wheeljack. The scene was just too bizarre for the Twins to be having one of their normal arguments.

“I move… for no man.” Sideswipe raised the sword, pointing it menacingly at his brother. Bluestreak darted back around behind the intact wooden sparring dummy.

“So be it!” Sunstreaker announced, drawing his own sword for the first time.

Wheeljack and Grimlock watched in awe as the Twins squared off against each other. The swords clashed with a great burst of sparks as they parried powerful strokes. Sideswipe whirled with a cutting stroke that Sunstreaker easily blocked, glissading off the point and stepping out of the way. Sunstreaker braced himself as Sideswipe charged him, stepping aside and slicing down viciously when the red warrior passed by. To Wheeljack’s horror, Sideswipe’s left arm came completely off at the shoulder, dropping to the ground at the red Twin’s feet. Pumping streams of Energon fountained from his shoulder as he stopped dead in his tracks, staring at Sunstreaker.

The yellow twin held up his head in triumph. “Now stand aside, worthy adversary,” he announced, but was prevented from leaving the path by his twin. Wheeljack could not believe his optics. Sideswipe not only was ignoring the wound, which was atypically _spouting_ Energon, but he was continuing to confront Sunstreaker!

“’Tis but a scratch.” Sideswipe tossed off the denial carelessly, lightly.

Sunstreaker’s mouth dropped open. “A scratch? Your arm’s off!”

“No, it isn’t,” insisted Sideswipe.

“Well, what’s that then?” The golden warrior pointed to the all-too-obvious red and black arm lying near Sideswipe’s feet.

“I’ve had worse,” said with a feral grin as the red twin readied his sword.

“You liar!” Sunstreaker shouted, losing his temper.

“Come on, you pansy!” came the taunt from one-armed Sideswipe.

It was too much for Sunstreaker to resist. The twins clashed again, Sideswipe giving a darn good effort for having only one arm. The sword strikes rang out clearly against the hillside, echoing. Sunstreaker pushed Sideswipe back and almost casually sliced off Sideswipe’s right arm when the red twin charged back into the fray. Sideswipe ran a few extra steps spurting bright pink Energon from both shoulders before he was able to come to a faltering stop.

“Victory is mine!” called Sunstreaker when Sideswipe turned to face him. He paced over to Sideswipe’s right arm and crouched down to retrieve Slag’s sword. To Wheeljack intense amusement and Grimlock’s confusion, Sideswipe ran up to his twin while he was still crouched down and proceeded to _kick_ him!

“Hah! Come on, then!” Sideswipe taunted, scuffing a kick at his brother. Wheeljack chuckled, at least Siders wasn’t giving up!

“What?” Sunstreaker was stunned, and annoyed at the dust being kicked up onto his shin guards.

The challenge rang out from the red twin, “Have at you!”

Sunstreaker glared at his brother, pointing to the fine coating of dust on his lower legs. “You are indeed brave, sir knight, but the fight is mine.” The words were snarled slightly, through gritted dental plates and a distinct frown crossed Sunstreaker’s face.

“Oh, Had enough, eh?” came the taunting reply, as more dust scuffed up and was carried away on the slight breeze.

Sunstreaker viciously waved his arm. “Look, you stupid bastard, you’ve got no arms left!”

“Yes, I have,” came the overconfident reply.

“Look!” A golden hand pointed out both arms lying on the ground a few feet apart from each other.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” retorted Sideswipe sulkily, as another foot-full of dust came puffing up from the ground at Sunstreaker.

“Look, Stop that!” came the angry demand.

“Chicken, chicken!” Sideswipe danced around inanely, spurting droplets of Energon around in a crazy pattern. He aimed another kick at Sunstreaker.

“Look, I’ll have your leg,” threatened Sunstreaker, dodging the kick and brandishing his sword. Sideswipe’s only reply was to lash out again with his leg. “Right!” Sunstreaker’s sword whistled through the air, neatly slicing off Sideswipe’s right leg.

Wheeljack nearly fried his circuits watching the Twins. _There’s no way this is real! Sideswipe would have shut down into emergency recharge by now! I wonder how they’re pulling this off?_ Pondering the mechanical possibilities, Wheeljack nearly missed the next exchange.

Sideswipe was hopping mad. “Right, I’ll do you for that!” He bounced up and down in an absurd effort to stay upright, springing back and forth in front of Sunstreaker.

“You’ll what?”

“Come here!” Sideswipe insisted, threat dripping from his voice as he hopped menacingly.

“What are you gonna do, bleed on me?” Sunstreaker was highly contemptuous towards his ever-bouncing brother. He held up one hand in a belated attempt to fend off his brother’s wobbling advance.

“I’m invincible!” came the strident cry as Sideswipe headbutted Sunstreaker in the chest, somewhat carefully. Wheeljack nearly fell over laughing, his poor flashbulbs heating up in overuse as he giggled madly.

Sunstreaker sneered down at his brother, giving him a very ungentle shove away from his shining chestplate. “You’re a loony.”

Sideswipe screamed back, “The black knight always triumphs!” launching a one-legged attack. His black helm butted against Sunstreaker’s arm this time. “Have at you! Come on, then.” Bouncing up and down, Sideswipe still prevented his twin from leaving the path.

Sunstreaker didn’t even bother to respond. The red sword viciously sliced out, launching Sideswipe five feet to the left. His leg stood for a split second in front of Sunstreaker before slowly toppling over on its side. A few feet away, Sideswipe had landed upright. The red Lamborghini twisted his torso this way and that, looking up as Sunstreaker and Bluestreak, who had returned with a clatter of coconuts, drew alongside. “Wha--?” He twisted again, peering down at his now limbless body. “All right, we’ll call it a draw.”

Wheeljack had lost all semblance of composure at that last line, much to Grimlock’s confused disgust. “What so funny?” demanded the irate Dinobot leader. Wheeljack waved his arms, too caught up in paroxysms of laugher to reply.

“Come, Patsy,” commanded Sunstreaker to Bluestreak as the two sauntered up the path towards the entrance of the training ground, leaving an irate Sideswipe sitting in a pool of seeping Energon. Sunstreaker had a definite smirk on his face. Both swords were carried in his right hand.

Sideswipe insisted on having the last word, screaming out at the top of his vocalizer, “Oh, I see. Running away, eh? You yellow bastard! Come back here and take what’s coming to you! I’ll bite your legs off!” The curses continued as the red twin writhed on the path, limbs scattered akimbo, watching his brother disappear through the entranceway.

Wheeljack tugged on Grimlock’s arm, and they both stepped back from the scene that had played out in front of them. The Lancia had finally regained control over his own vocal circuits and reassured Grimlock as they returned to the Ark. “I think you’ll get your swords back now, Grimlock. Movie night was the other night, y’know. Those two were just… being themselves, I guess. ” Wheeljack chuckled again. _I have got to get myself in on this! That looked too fun!_


	3. The Tale of Perceptor

Perceptor was working in his laboratory early the next morning. The researcher was examining the properties of a new rock conglomeration that Beachcomber found on his latest exploratory jaunt. Perceptor's domain was off to one side of the main medbay, a smaller office that doubled as a storage room and was chock-full of bits and parts that any of the mechanics might find useful in their experiments. A large screen dominated one orange wall, containing a computer terminal that accessed the knowledge of Teletran-1. This is where Perceptor sat typing, when a commotion distracted him from his studies.

Wheeljack and Sideswipe burst into the room, startling the scientist and causing him to stand up from the terminal. However, the two newcomers took no notice of Perceptor as they proceeded to rummage through the storage boxes, obviously continuing a discussion that had been going on for some time.

"They could be carried," Wheeljack explained, taking an empty box from the floor and using it like a shopping cart.

"What, a swallow carrying a coconut?" queried Sideswipe, collecting a handful of small springs and tossing them deftly into the box that Wheeljack had tucked under his arm.

"It could grip it by the husk," said Wheeljack reasonably, trying to explain.

Sideswipe beaned Wheeljack on the head with a small rubber washer and looked at Perceptor with an exasperated expression in his optics. "It's not a question of where he grips it. It's a simple question of weight ratios…"

Perceptor stood completely still while he computed for a moment. Pulling up his immense biological encyclopedia program, he calculated the approximate weight, size, and mass of both a swallow (which he had to find the specific entry as he had not personally seen one) and a coconut. Amazingly, Sideswipe appeared to have the upper hand, scientifically speaking. The research scientist could not help but to chime in. "It's true, Wheeljack, a five-ounce bird could not carry a one-pound coconut."

Sideswipe quickly hid his delighted grin by turning his back and digging enthusiastically through the assorted parts on the back shelves. Wheeljack turned to pin Perceptor with a look…one that clearly said _stay out of this unless you know what you're talking about_.

Perceptor pushed his advantage, recognizing a scientific challenge when he saw one. As pacifistic as he was, he had no problem whatsoever defending himself intellectually. He took a reasoning stance and proceeded to explain to his fellow scientist, ignoring Sideswipe's periodic contributions to the box still held in Wheeljack's grasp. "Listen, in order to maintain air-speed velocity, a swallow needs to beat its wings precisely forty-three times every second." His point appeared to fall on deaf audios as Wheeljack turned suddenly, ear-lights flashing, and selected a few small gyro-motors for the growing pile in the box. Perceptor added, "I am right, you know, and Teletran-1 has the data to back me up."

Sideswipe reappeared with a random collection of thin metal strips. "It could be carried by an African swallow." Flashing a knowing grin at his co-conspirator, the red Lamborghini disappeared back into the stacks of miscellaneous parts.

Perceptor computed that possibility. African swallows were indeed larger. "An African swallow, maybe, but not a European swallow." His agreement was met with Wheeljack's back as the Lancia continued to noisily rummage through the various storage bins in the front of the room. Perceptor couldn't quite tell, but the noise seemed to be covering a quiet set of giggles.

Wheeljack's ear-lights steadied from their flickering, then flashed normally as he pressed his own point. "Wait a minute. Supposing two swallows carried it together?" Before Perceptor could finish computing that possibility, Sideswipe called out from the back shelving.

"No, they'd have to have it on a line."

Wheeljack was undeterred. "Simple! They'd just use a strand of creeper." Shrugging at Perceptor, he juggled the box and peered into it for a moment before proceeding to the door. Sideswipe trotted out from the back shelving, carrying a long coil of fine wire. Perceptor stood back, shaking his head at the nonsense the two other Autobots were spouting. _Why in Primus' name would a swallow carry a coconut anyway? It doesn't make sense._

Catching up to Wheeljack, Sideswipe tossed the wire in the box and preceded him out the door. "Held under the dorsal guiding feathers?"

"Why not? I'll prove it!" was the final rejoinder from Wheeljack as the two Autobots traipsed out of pickup range.

_Oh dear_ , thought Perceptor, sitting back down, _bored Twins and an inspired Wheeljack. I think we're in for a very interesting day._

oOoOo

Beachcomber and Hound finally dragged Perceptor out of his office much later that day to grab a ration of Energon. "C'mon, Perceptor, not even you can last forever without a good Energon drink to sustain you," they had explained. The trio walked amiably from the medbay section of the ship to the dayroom, chatting about Earth geology and discussing the possible uses for the rock that had been found when a high-pitched echoing whirr stopped them mid-sentence.

"Like, hey, what the heck is that?" asked Beachcomber, peering up and down the large orange corridor for the source of the sound.

Hound swept his tracking rifle around. "It appears that whatever is making that noise is directly in front of us and," he paused, recalibrating, "it's heading our way, fast!"

Perceptor peered up the corridor. He could just make out a tiny object whizzing down the center of the hallway. Something about its odd shape and method of locomotion tickled his memory circuits, but he couldn't quite place what it could possibly be. Absent-mindedly, the red-blue scientist stood completely still, searching his program memory to place the object. The next thing he knew, Hound had tackled him to the floor just as the oddly shaped mechanical doohickey buzzed past at breakneck speed. It was a tiny aerodynamic shape attached to a much larger spherical object. Beachcomber merely ducked, a bemused laugh echoing from his vocalizer. "Well, I'll be…"

Hound and Perceptor peered down the hallway at the rapidly retreating, tiny, _flapping_ object. "What was that?" asked Hound, standing upright and brushing off his armor before helping Perceptor to his feet. "Another of Wheeljack's inventions?" Perceptor used his microscope lenses to take readings and confirm what he hoped was not really what he thought it was.

Perceptor shook his head ruefully. "Yes. It's apparently a mechanical swallow…carrying a coconut."

oOoOo

Perceptor left his office very late that night after finally coming to a satisfactory conclusion to his research on Beachcomber's conglomerate rock. Stepping out into the hallway outside of medbay, he almost didn't register the shadowed forms of Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and Bluestreak and, several steps behind them, Brawn. Giving a startled jump, which elicited a snicker from Brawn, he half-heartedly returned the even smiles from the trio, who proceeded to pace him back to the barracks rooms. _They must all be coming off-shift or something_ , he thought hopefully.

Or not. Perceptor didn't pick up the lilting strains at first, but when he became aware of the music playing from Bluestreak's doorwing stereo speakers and Sideswipe thumping along on what sounded like an Autobot-sized tambourine, he picked up his pace a little, hoping to distance himself from whatever the Twins were up to this time. The Lamborghinis merely kept pace, Bluestreak a step behind, and Brawn lagging back with a nasty grin plastered across his lip components. To his utter shock, though he knew Sunstreaker used to be an artist, a soft lyrical voice began to sing along.

_Bravely, Sir Perceptor-_

_Strode out from his office._

_He's been stuck in there all day-_

_Brave, brave, Perceptor._

_He is never to be found-_

_When we go out on patrol._

_Brave, brave, brave hiding Perceptor…_

Perceptor clearly heard Brawn's loud snickering at the lyrics. Although he was not a combat fighter, Perceptor did have an important job, and no unappreciative, unintelligent grunts were going to get to him. He was only a few more moments from the sanctity of his quarters. He could tune them out.

But the lyrics _were_ clever…

_He would never be caught outside-_

_When Decepticons attack._

_Or to take part in a fight-_

_He could run away from._

_He would rather sit in there-_

_And never fight the war-_

_To never have his limbs dismantled-_

_Perceptor…_

Sunstreaker's voice began to lilt in a repetitive line as a nasty smirk spread across his face. Perceptor was in sight of his goal, and the door to his quarters never looked so welcome.

_His head smashed in, and his spark cut out,_

_His lenses removed, and his optics unplugged,_

Ah, there was the door! Just a few more steps…

_His fingers snapped, and his Energon drained,_

_And his cable-_

Perceptor huffily closed the door on the lyrical chanting. Faintly, he could hear uproarious laughter echoing back and forth across the corridor walls. He shook his head again, and strode towards the recharge bunk in his quarters. _Something has to be decisively done with those two…but what? And who?_


	4. Hound's Tale

Whzzzzzzzzzzzzz!  
Hound managed to duck at the last possible second as another of Wheeljack's mechanical swallows zipped by, talons firmly entwined in the fibrous husk of a coconut. Glancing down the hallway after the zooming menace to make sure it wasn't about to make a return trip, he shook his head ruefully and continued his trek to Prime's office. Wheeljack apparently made the little robotic birds as part of a strange bet with Sideswipe, but had lost control of them. No one was quite sure exactly how many were still active, swooping around the Ark corridors with a coconut grasped in their tiny feet. It paid to keep a sharp lookout in the hallways.

Optimus Prime's office was on the second floor Teletran-1's main bay. Hound ascended the stairs to the walkway outside the office before a commotion on the main floor caught his attention. Peering over the railing into the open room, he witnessed a large group of Minibots making haste for the front opening to the Ark. Every few steps, they would jerk, almost in unison, to a cry from the red and yellow forms chasing them mercilessly through the open bay. Sunstreaker held a small cylinder in his hand, pointing it at the retreating group.

"Ni!" cried Sunstreaker with a gleefully evil grin as he pressed a button on the object in his hand. Sideswipe echoed his brother with a slightly higher pitched "Ni!"

The smaller forms jerked and renewed their frantic efforts to get away from Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Windcharger managed to transform and wasted no time in accelerating far ahead of the rest of the group. The other victims to the Twins' latest prank were still on foot, jerkily making their way along the corridor to the cries of "Ni!"

Hound froze in place to avoid calling attention to himself as the strange tableau disappeared from his optic range. Once certain the coast was clear, he pushed open the door to Optimus Prime's office. Prime sat behind his desk, reviewing a collection of datapads. "You wanted to see me, Prime?" asked Hound.

"Yes. We have received an urgent request from the human weapons laboratory called General Ordinance Developers. They have come up with a new liquid super-propellant explosive pack the technicians are labeling the 'Holy Grail.' They have a sample for us to examine. I need you to pry Wheeljack out of his office and take him with you to pick it up. Here are the coordinates of the laboratory." Prime handed Hound a small letter and map. "I do hope this new challenge will distract him from his current hobby. I'm getting tired of ducking"

Hound examined the map. The coordinates showed an area that Hound knew to be uninhabited, unless the laboratory was underground. Considering the nature of the technology, that could be a definite possibility. "So you want me to tell Wheeljack we have a request from G.O.D. to pick up the 'Holy Grail'?" For some reason, that last phrase struck his processor as odd, but he couldn't quite place what sounded off. He looked to Prime for verification.

Optimus Prime nodded solemnly. "Yes. This is a very hush-hush mission, you understand. We don't want the Decepticons finding out about the lab, or the propellant. Wheeljack will know what to do with the sample. You should find him in his laboratory."

oOoOo

Hound grabbed Trailbreaker, who was idly watching a rerun of "As the Kitchen Sinks," to help with the retrieval mission. The two rugged Autobots made their way out to Wheeljack's lab, which was situated in a bunker-type structure a short distance from the Ark itself. Wheeljack's reputation and frequent explosive inventions necessitated the relocation of his lab a few years after their reawakening on Earth. Despite Prime's assurance the inventor was in residence, the structure appeared deserted as they approached. Not wishing to set off any unstable experiments, Hound prudently decided to hail the building instead, calling out in a carrying voice, "Hello!"

"Hello!" he repeated, throwing a glance at Trailbreaker, who was idly staring at the building, arms crossed.

From an observation deck on the roof, a dark head popped up. In the sun glare, neither Hound nor Trailbreaker could quite correctly identify who it was…one of the Twins, certainly. A voice called back in a very strange vocalization, "Hallo? Who is it?"

As if they didn't know, Hound thought. "It's Hound and Trailbreaker. Go tell Wheeljack that we've been charged by G.O.D. with a secret request. He needs come out here and join us to pick up the 'Holy Grail'." There it was again. The phrasing of this mission just sounded…off. Before he had time to mull it over further, he got his answer from… Sideswipe, based on the tone of voice still garbled by that weird vocalization.

"Well, I'll ask him, but I don't think he'll be very keen. He's already got one, you see."

Hound was taken aback. Why would Prime send them on a mission if Wheeljack already had a sample of the pack? "What?" was Hound's intellectual reply.

Trailbreaker muttered, "He says they've already got one."

Hound wasn't ready to give up on this mission just yet. The Twins would have no knowledge of the propellant pack, so how could they speak for Wheeljack? He called back, a little ruffled, "Are you sure he's got one?"

It was definitely Sideswipe's voice carrying back over the slight breeze, vowels still distorted. "Oh, yes. It's very nice!" A series of Twin-ish snickers floated down from the observation deck.

Hound and Trailbreaker exchanged looks. "Look, can you just please get Wheeljack for us?" Hound called, not really wanting to prolong this exchange any longer. The Twins were still up to something, and he had the sinking feeling that he and Trailbreaker were the latest victims.

"Of course not! You are tracking types!" came the reply, indignation rife with every heavily accented syllable.

"I thought we were all Autobots," muttered Trailbreaker, torn between irritation and amusement. When Hound motioned for him to be quiet, Trailbreaker shrugged.

"What are you then?" Hound called back, pretty sure he already knew the answer.

Sunstreaker made his appearance on the platform, posing dramatically as Sideswipe bantered back, "I'm a sports car! Why do you think I have this outrageous accent, you silly Jeep?"

Trailbreaker couldn't keep quiet any longer, "What are you doing in Wheeljack's lab?"

"Mind your own business!" snarled Sideswipe as Sunstreaker disappeared below view.

Hound was determined to get this mission over with. "Look, if you don't go get Wheeljack, we'll just come in and get him ourselves!" Apparently this was the Wrong Thing to Say. Sideswipe planted his feet, placed fists on hip-plates, and proceeded to-

"You don't frighten us, tracking non-fighters! Go and boil your skidplates, creations of a silly mech! I empty my nasal vents at you, so called tracker Jeep! You and all your silly gas-guzzling cowarrrrrrds!"

Trailbreaker looked stunned for a moment before chuckling quietly. Hound was nonplussed. "Now, look here Sideswipe…" he started reasonably.

"I don't wanna talk to you no more, you empty-headed Minibot Energon-dispenser wiper! I exhaust in your general direction! Your mother was a roto-rat, and your father smelt of high-grade!" Sideswipe ended his tirade with a clearly visible grin, standing cockily centered on the observation deck. Behind him, vague shadows moved.

Hound sighed. This was going nowhere. Sweeping his scanning rifle across the expanse of the lab, he determined that Wheeljack wasn't actually in residence. "This is a dead end, Trailbreaker," he admitted. He swept his scanner in a full circle, ignoring the furtive movement from the roof of the laboratory. "Looks like he's West of here."

Trailbreaker turned on his own scanners. "Are you sure? Wheeljack never lets anyone in his lab when he's not there. It goes against…"

-sproiiing!-

"LOOK OUT!" Hound tackled Trailbreaker out of the way (he'd been doing that a lot lately) of the rather large object catapulted from the roof of the observatory. When the dust finally settled, Hound and Trailbreaker stood up, transformed, and made their way rapidly west, away from the jeering Twins (and Bluestreak, who finally popped his head up) and the poor, abused Yugo that had been used as fodder. "Let's find Wheeljack and get this over with!"

"Agreed."

oOoOo

Several miles west of Autobot headquarters lay a wasteland of desert and rock. Scattered about were different levels of plateaus, cliffs, arches, and other wind-sculpted rock formations. Hound had been watching his sensors for Wheeljack's whereabouts and both off-roaders stopped at the first of the large boulder formations. They transformed in time to witness a large explosion capping the top of one of the larger hills.

"Wheeljack," was all Hound had to say. Explosions were the Lancia's signature, the recognizing factor whether or not his inventions actually worked. Another explosion echoed across the wasteland, from a slightly different direction. Hound led the way, sweeping his tracking gun in a search pattern before finally locating the scientist atop the tallest rock formation in the immediate area. "Primus! How are we going to reach him?"

Another explosion rocked the area, spitting screaming fragments of rock in a wide burst pattern. Hound and Trailbreaker ducked needlessly, as the explosion was quite a ways away, and carefully walked to the center of Wheeljack's immediate optic sensor range. "He'll see us for sure now," Hound explained as the two waited patiently.

Wheeljack may have seen them, but he was still busy doing…whatever it was he was doing. With grandiose arm gestures, the grey-white Autobot cued explosion after explosion. Fiery red towers mushroomed up out of the surrounding rock formations, exploding with audio-shattering booms that shook the very earth beneath Hound's feet. Screaming trails of light streaked partway across the sky. Minutes passed, punctuated by intermittent crackles of explosive fire.

Hound was about to radio the Lancia when Wheeljack pointedly turned to face him and Trailbreaker. After a short pause, the bow-legged Autobot raised both arms in a majestic, sweeping gesture that ended with a gigantic explosion on the very spot where he stood. Before either stunned tracker could react; another, much smaller puff of smoke erupted a few feet from where they stood.

Wheeljack, or what was left of him, came stumbling out of the smoke, limbs twisted and scorched from the explosion. Hound and Trailbreaker leapt to catch the feebly moving form and lower him gently to the ground. Amazingly, the scientist was laughing, however weakly, at the incident.

"Gotta…work…on that….-garble-…transfer… heh heh heh," was all he said before shutting down into emergency stasis. One last word left his vocalizer as he collapsed, "…Tim."

"Primus!" Hound exclaimed, "We have to get him back to Ratchet, quick!"

Trailbreaker transformed and held still as Hound draped the unconscious inventor across his roof. "You think this has anything to do with what the Twins have been up to?"

Hound paused infinitesimally, "I'd bet my spark on it, but this has gone too far." And I bet that Sideswipe hacked into Teletran-1 to set us up for this, too. "Request from G.O.D." indeed! "Prime needs to put a stop to it before anyone else gets hurt," he added as they sped back to Autobot headquarters.


	5. Prowl's Tale

Prowl was not surprised to find himself in Optimus Prime's office early the next morning. He was well aware of the Twins' activities over the last several days and was relieved that Prime finally reached the end of even his immense patience for his troops. What did surprise Prowl was the embarrassed mien in those commanding blue optics, the nervous twitch behind that featureless facemask, as he read off the list of transgressions. Even for the Twins, the list was impressive, spanning everything from falsifying official documents, through harassment, and finally ending with aggravated assault (though that last one was a technicality as Wheeljack was famous for blowing himself up).

Optimus Prime paused in the recitation to regard his second-in-command. He dropped his gaze to the datapad listing the stunning array of violations, then laughed softly, wryly, "I wasn't sure if Sideswipe was just kidding when he said in response to my orders this morning, and I quote, 'You can't expect to wield supreme executive power just because some cubic zirconium is lodged in your torso! I mean, if I went around saying I was commander just because some shards of glass got stuck in my chestplate, they'd put me away!'" He placed the datapad on his desk, leaned forward and met Prowl's optics. "By itself, that outburst, while insubordinate, is nothing to worry about. Even hacking into Teletran-1 to plant a phony mission was somewhat amusing, in hindsight. However, since Wheeljack was severely injured in the course of these pranks, things have taken a more serious turn. Normally, I would not ask you to intervene, but I believe Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are computationally unable to stop. They've become immersed in whatever fantasy they've created and I need someone who can stay one step ahead of their next prank to neutralize them…without causing any further harm if at all possible." Prime pushed the datapad across the desk and into Prowl's waiting fingers. "You have my full authority to stop these pranks however you see fit."

Prowl lifted the datapad and perused its contents for a moment before answering. Each listed incident had a title, general description, timestamp, and attached reports from the victims involved. Tapping his fingers against the coded reports, he looked up at the Autobot leader. "You can count on me, Prime."

oOoOo

Bluestreak was waiting in the hallway outside of Prime's office. The young gunner looked stressed, wringing his fingers with little metallic creaks as he paced back and forth across the hallway. When Prowl emerged, still studying the datapad, Bluestreak broke into a relieved smile and all but inundated the tactician with a flood of verbosity.

"Prowl, oh I'm so glad you're here. We've got a problem. Well, I mean, they have a problem since obviously I'm here and I'm okay; but they're there and they're not…at least that's what I think. I don't know, though. How do you actually tell if someone is okay or not? Only you can tell if you're okay. But I don't know if they're okay or not since they're there and I'm here…"

The stream of words would have continued in the same vein for some time had Prowl not held up a hand to stop his fellow Datsun's babbling. In a soothing tone, he said, "Bluestreak, take a moment to process. Tell me what's wrong in three sentences or fewer."

The young gunner screwed up his facial planes in concentration, and then carefully recited, counting off each sentence with his fingers. "Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are in Wheeljack's lab." One. "One of Wheeljack's new inventions has gone berserk right outside the entrance." Two. "I'm worried that they might be hurt inside, but I can't get to the door and I need extra help." Three. Bluestreak clamped his lip components shut, his whole face showing the effort in stemming the inevitable gush of words. He tilted his helm down, pointing his optics to the floor at Prowl's right.

Prowl, about to automatically reassure the apparently-reformed Bluestreak, narrowed his optics ever so slightly at that last motion. A flash of processing zinged through his battle computer to lodge the results at the forefront of his main processor. He's lying. Bluestreak could never bluff effectively and he's not telling me everything…which I encouraged by limiting him to three sentences. He doesn't know that I know, and I think I can turn that to my advantage. Keeping an outwardly neutral expression, Prowl smiled inwardly as he replied, "We won't take any chances. Let's get some help."

oOoOo

It was a small group that lined up a fair distance from the door to Wheeljack's lab. Prowl wasn't surprised to find few volunteers to help "rescue" Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. He kept Bluestreak near him, not wanting to let the gunner out of his sight. Warpath, Windcharger, Skyfire, Mirage, Ironhide (who most likely had a very liberal definition of the word "rescue"), and Trailbreaker rounded out the team lined up behind a loose collection of small boulders. All the Autobots focused their attention toward the cluttered, flat, packed-down area extending in front of Wheeljack's front door.

"There he is!" whispered Bluestreak, pointing dramatically. A roundly compact white vehicle sat motionless a few steps away from the front door, surrounded by scrap metal, old car frames, and the crushed chassis of an unfortunate Yugo. It looked to be the same general shape of Bumblebee's Volkswagen alt mode, but only half the size of their courageous spy. Behind Prowl, Trailbreaker muffled a guffaw behind his hand. Prowl studied the situation carefully. While the white vehicle appeared intact, it scanned clean to Prowl's sensors. No projectile muzzles protruded from his petite headlights, no emissions blipped his perusal. Prowl decided to verify the identity of the threat.

"Where?" asked Prowl.

"There!" gestured Bluestreak.

"What, behind the Rabbit?" Dredging up the automobile model from his memory banks, Prowl wanted to make absolutely sure he knew exactly which vehicle was the trap- the half-sized Volkswagen Rabbit or the dilapidated Yugo.

"It is the Rabbit," Bluestreak insisted urgently, but quietly.

Prowl gave Bluestreak a sharp look, catching the dubious grins being bandied about by the rest of the "rescue" team. He's being too succinct, and that's out of character for him. I've got him now. The cruiser swiftly changed tactics and verbally challenged the young gunner. "You cannot be serious, Bluestreak. That vehicle is barely large enough to be more than an elaborate human toy. It also scans weaponless. I don't believe you would waste the time of an entire team…"

Bluestreak, predictably, interrupted. "That's no ordinary Rabbit! That's the most foul, cruel, and bad-tempered turbo-rodent you ever set optics on! It's got a vicious streak a mile wide!" The passionate ranting would have gone on for some time had Ironhide not stepped in.

"All right, you young punk, that's enough!" The red warrior silenced Bluestreak's babbling with a vicious wave of his arm. "Prowl sees nothing wrong here and I'm not putting up with this nonsense any longer!" Ironhide was livid. It showed in his carriage, the flash of his faded blue optics, and the subtle squeak of rubbing metal from his clenched fists. Before Prowl could stop him, Ironhide took the initiative, ordering, "Warpath, take him out!"

"Bang, zoooom!" was the reply as Warpath gleefully transformed into tank mode and rolled forward, sighting on the small white car. Prowl mentally shook his head as the situation proceeded into the obvious (to him) trap. While his battle computer was still reconfiguring the change in situation, Bluestreak flung out an arm, directing attention to the Rabbit.

"Look!" he cried. Before everyone's optics, the half-size car transformed, exchanging tires for clawed feet, extending floppy protrusions on its hood and gaping a grill full of razor-sharp teeth. Warpath reacted with a yelp of surprise as the creature bounded towards him, aiming unerringly for the junction between vehicle and turret. A frantic energy blast distracted the Rabbit long enough for the Tourette's-inspired Autobot to transform and beat a hasty retreat back to the dubious safety of the boulders. Bluestreak couldn't quite hide his smirk at the stunned expressions of his fellow Autobots.

Prowl calculated swiftly, coordinating a frontal attack through the private channel he had with each of the Autobots present. Bare astroseconds passed as he laid out the marching orders to each member of the team, excluding the young gunner. Risking a speculative glance at Bluestreak, he verbally called the order to…

"Charge!"

Six Autobots rushed forward, leaving Bluestreak behind to deal with the unexpected pinning of his arms by an invisible Mirage. Skyfire laid down distracting fire while Windcharger powered up his magnetic field, attracting various bits of metal chassis lying on the ground to the Rabbit, slowing the maniacal white mini-car. Trailbreaker surrounded the vehicle with his force field while Ironhide bathed it in liquid nitrogen, gritting his dental plates at Prowl's messaged orders to "immobilize but not destroy" Wheeljack's invention. Warpath and Prowl charged the entrance of Wheeljack's lab, passing safely by the frozen white demon. Warpath skidded to a stop, turning suddenly, and Prowl was a fraction too slow to avoid a servo-popping crack to his cranial helm, courtesy of the tank's chest barrel.

Blue optics faded momentarily while the cruiser's systems struggled to repair delicate circuitry viciously jostled in the collision. Prowl's battle computer rerouted the plan to his main processor in the time it took Warpath to sheepishly offer the black-and-white a hand up. Visual receptors uploaded the scene as he scanned for his teammates. All seemed to be in order. Prowl gave the next set of orders for his plan.

"Mirage, I want you to take Bluestreak back to my office and keep him there. Do not let him make contact with anyone until I return to question him. Skyfire, I want you to take charge of the Rabbit. Keep it in cold stasis until I can detail to you what to do next." Affirmative replies drifted across the flat expanse as the assigned mechs went into action. Turning to the remaining members of the team, he outlined the rest of his plan. Of course, by now the word "rescue" was re-defined. "Okay. That went better than anticipated. With the Rabbit out of commission, I think we can still 'rescue' the Twins even with the team five members down."

"Three," corrected Trailbreaker.

"Three," affirmed Prowl after an infinitesimal pause. "What needs to happen now is for us to break into two groups and split up. Ironhide and Warpath, you take the lead while the five of us in the second team…"

"Three," repeated Trailbreaker, glancing at Prowl oddly.

Prowl continued. "Three of us in the second team follow at a discreet distance, keeping to the shadows. They're likely to make a break for it, since they're both much faster than the two of you in alt-mode. With the five of us…"

"Three, Prowl," interjected Trailbreaker, again.

Prowl paused for a microsecond. "Three of us a good distance back, we'll have a much better chance of catching them before they reach the entrance, especially with Trailbreakers force field and Windcharger's magnetic ability. Any questions? On my count then. One, two, five!"

"Three, Prowl"

"Three!"

Ironhide and Warpath enthusiastically shouldered the doors open, charging down the hallway. Prowl, Windcharger, and Trailbreaker followed at a more sedate pace, spacing themselves at reasonable intervals to catch a speeding Lamborghini. Ironhide's threats echoed down the main hallway, accompanied by Warpath's interjections and the heavy tromp of armored feet.

"When I find you two, your chassis won't be worth scrap in a Cybertronian junk heap!"

"Bam! Don't bother hiding; we'll just force you out! Zowie!"

The sounds of tramping feet separated and faded into the distance of Wheeljack's back lab rooms. Prowl signaled for his group to stop at the first junction in the hallway. All three Autobots strained their sensors to the limit to try and pick up the fading sounds coming from Ironhide and Warpath. Shortly, the steady footsteps came to a halt. Silence descended in the lab. Prowl kept his optics trained forward, scanning for any hint of the Lamborghini twins. They're up to something, I just know—

"Aaah!" Twin voices rang out in simulated terror from deep in the lab. Windcharger and Trailbreaker stepped into the passages on either side of the main hallway in preparation to use their unique talents. Prowl stood firmly in the main hallway, feet braced, ready for the Twins to make their break. Two sets of bright headlights speared the dimness, bathing the front of the cruiser's chestplate in harsh white light.

"Look out!" cried Warpath, appearing in a doorway further down the hall. He pointed past the headlights to a lumpy shape lumbering heavily after the speeding race cars. Prowl paused, calculating this new, unknown threat into his engagement plans. Did Wheeljack have another invention inside the lab? The distraction was enough for him to miss both Lamborghinis as they sped by, nearly flattening Prowl with the wind of their passage. He sensed that both Windcharger and Trailbreaker were taken aback by both the near mach-speed of their flight as well as their chanting, and neither managed to slow, much less stop, the Twins from their escape.

"Run away! Run away!" echoed from the front doorway, drifting like the receding cloud of dust in the sunlight.

Prowl turned his attention to the dark, lumpy shape, growling incoherently as it lumbered closer. Warpath, Windcharger, and Trailbreaker closed ranks beside him as the four warriors braced themselves to face…

Ironhide…infuriated and covered in sticky green-black paint with dozens of Autobot-sized round googly-eyes piled over his helm. A large sign hastily plastered to the front of his chestplate read: "Legendary Black Beast of 'Aaaah.'" Prowl stood dumbfounded, his battle computer frantically trying to compute a logical path for the absurdity of this tableau. The tactician slowly sank to his knees in programming shock, one thought foremost in his personality cortex: I will beat them at their own game.

oOoOo

Jazz was waiting for Prowl outside the tactician's office the next morning. The saboteur's quizzical look quickly shifted to an open grin in response to the smile on Prowl's face. "You smilin', Prowl? This is gonna be good, and I'm glad you invited me along!" Prowl merely nodded in response, the wry smile on his face twitching ever so slightly.

There were those in the faction who claimed that Prowl never smiled. In fact, that the logical, rule-straight tactician was incapable of smiling. They couldn't be more wrong. Underneath that logic-focused façade laid a dryly wicked sense of humor, and the ability to (eventually) cope with nearly any situation given. Prowl wielded this attribute like a finely honed rapier, his rare humor striking swiftly in deadly jabs. Jazz was one of the few Autobots who was aware of the cruiser's humor, and Prowl especially needed him to play witness to his latest plan.

When Prowl returned to his office after a quick stop in the medbay, he spent the next several hours questioning Bluestreak very, very closely, picking out every detail of each and every incident that he, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, and Wheeljack had planned. He confiscated "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" from the dayroom, ostensibly to place it on the restricted list; but in actuality he watched and studied every motion, costume, line, and joke in the film….and rather enjoyed himself while doing so. He plotted out the pranks the Twins played, using the datapad Prime gave him to wrangle out every possible conclusion. He reconfigured the data, carefully utilizing his battle computer to plot the Twins' next likely course of action. He messaged Jazz, Ratchet, Trailbreaker, Prime and Skyfire with his plans for the next confrontation.

Prowl was ready. He couldn't help but smile. The Twins would have no idea what hit them.

Prowl and Jazz made their way to the main bay and Optimus Prime's office. Jazz was mostly in the dark as to what was planned, all Prowl had told him was to be waiting outside his office at the start of first shift. As the two entered the main bay and approached the stairs, Prowl was greeted with the sight he had figured most likely to happen next. His smile deepened just a fraction before disappearing completely as his professional mien took over. Jazz chuckled softly and gestured to the set up. "What is all this?"

The walkway outside of Prime's office was draped in flimsy cloth. Frayed ropes dangled halfway down to the main floor. A well-concealed, yet still somewhat noticeable panel lay directly across the walkway, wafted with a fine mist. Sideswipe stood slightly hunched at the stairway end of the mess, a wicked grin on his face as he waited, facing away from them.

Prowl didn't answer Jazz, turning to address Ratchet and Trailbreaker, who leaned up against the wall under the drifting mist-shrouded walkway. "Ready?" he asked in a murmured voice.

Nods answered his quiet query: amused from Trailbreaker, and murderous from Ratchet. Good, Prowl thought, Ratchet has worked himself into a vindictive mood. All the better.

Optimus Prime entered Teletran-1's main bay, casting a long-suffering optic over the the scene. He joined Prowl and Jazz in their corner. "Ironhide is still in a steam-shower getting the last of that substance off," he announced quietly. "Prowl, are you sure you have this under control?"

Prowl nodded. "As I figure it, all you have to do, Prime, is answer Sideswipe's questions the way I outlined them. Once you're in your office, call for..." and here Prowl scanned his internal data files "Perceptor."

Prime studied his second-in-command for a long moment. "All right." With a significant glance to Jazz, who shrugged in reply, the Autobot leader turned, and walked away. He climbed the stairs to the walkway in front of his office. Huffer walked up to Prowl and Jazz while Prime approached the contraption, looking intently after their leader.

"Stop!" called Sideswipe. When Prime stopped a few paces away, the red Twin continued. "Who would cross the Bridge of Death must answer me these questions three, 'ere the other side he see."

Prime replied steadily, if a tad woodenly, "Ask me the questions, Sideswipe…I'm not afraid."

"What is your name?" Sideswipe asked with a maniacal, lopsided grin.

"My name is Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots," was the reply.

"What is your quest?" sounded the second question, intoned in a scratchy voice.

"To seek my office," Prime answered calmly, casting a wary optic over the "Bridge of Death."

Sideswipe asked his final question. "What is your favorite color?"

Prime didn't hesitate a beat. "Blue."

"Right, off you go then." Sideswipe stepped aside and gestured grandly to the mist-shrouded walkway.

Prime cast one more glance at Sideswipe before shrugging and walking across the "Bridge" to his office. The door hissed shut.

Prowl allowed the ghost of a smirk to cross his face. Jazz turned to his friend and pointed up to the smug red Lamborghini. "That's it? That's your plan? You've got to be kidding me!"

"Ha! That's easy!" exclaimed Huffer, and he traipsed up the stairs to confront Sideswipe. Prowl merely shook his head, gesturing for Jazz to watch.

"Stop!" commanded Sideswipe, grinning hugely. "Who approacheth the Bridge of Death must answer me these questions three, 'ere before the Prime he see."

"Get on with it, Sideswipe! I have to talk to Prime!" demanded Huffer, crossing his arms, a look of irritation crossing his facial planes.

"What is your name?" intoned Sideswipe.

"Huffer of the Autobots."

"What is your quest?"

"To talk to Prime!" Huffer sounded annoyed at having to repeat this information.

"What…is the capital of Assyria?" said with an evil grin.

Huffer paused. "I don't know that! Aaaaah!"

The floor beneath Huffer moved as Sunstreaker sprang up, mercilessly tackling the source of the "I don't know" and viciously launching the Minibot over the side of the railing to the floor below. With a nasty, satisfied smirk, the yellow warrior reset himself under the walkway panel.

Prowl watched impassively as Trailbreaker's force field broke Huffer's fall. Ratchet gave the shaken 'bot a cursory examination before releasing him. Jazz audibly snapped his mouth shut. Prowl nodded to Jazz confidently, everything was going according to plan. Now if Perceptor…

Following orders, if not on cue, Perceptor entered the main bay at a jog, hastily climbing the stairs in single-minded intensity. He skidded in surprise at Sideswipe's "Stop!" Gaping at the scene just now registering to his processor, Perceptor barely listened to Sideswipe's growled litany as he craned his head around to catch a glimpse of Prime's door.

"What is your name?"

"Perceptor of the Autobots."

"What is your quest?"

"To speak with Optimus Prime," said in an urgent tone.

"What …is your favorite color?"

"Blue," came the distracted reply. "No…Yel—aaaaaaaah!"

Perceptor yelped and jumped, startled, as Sunstreaker erupted from the floor panel, aiming unerringly for the hesitant answering voice. The poor scientist inadvertently assisted in his own launching from the "Bridge of Death" topping gracelessly over the side of the walkway to be caught by Trailbreaker's force field.

Now.

Prowl stepped forward and into Sideswipe's line of sight. Jazz paced alongside, muttering, "You are insane!" for only Prowl's sensors to pick up. "Sideswipe and Sunstreaker have gone off the deep end and you're voluntarily walking into it?" Prowl nodded ever so slightly in reply before he calmly ascended the steps to face Sideswipe. The red Twin was grinning maliciously. Prowl figured Sideswipe was delighted at the chance to prank the second-in-command twice in a row. Facial planes passive, the cruiser stopped at Sideswipe's gravely command. Jazz paused a step behind, watching.

"What…is your name?"

"It is Prowl, Autobot tactician."

"What is your quest?"

"To speak with Optimus Prime."

Sideswipe paused a moment, his grin widening wickedly. "What…is the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow?"

Prowl smiled back and watched in smug satisfaction as Sideswipe's grin froze on his face. "What do you mean? African or European swallow?"

Caught up in the script as Prowl had concluded he'd be, Sideswipe stammered out the next line in the movie. "I- I- I don't know that. Aaaaaaaaugh!"

Prowl nimbly stepped aside as Sunstreaker unerringly launched up towards Sideswipe at the trigger phrase "I don't know." Sideswipe fought back, briefly wrestling into a lock-hold with his twin, but both warriors overbalanced, yelling and falling to the floor below and Ratchet's tender mercies. He couldn't help but snort at Jazz's astonished expression and motioned for them to proceed to Prime's office. "I don't think we'll have any further trouble from them."

Jazz finally found his voice. "Prowl, how did you know all that was going to happen? How did you know what to say?"

Prowl grinned openly at the dumbfounded saboteur and a preciously rare chuckle escaped his vocalizer. "It's called 'research,' Jazz."

oOoOo

Epilogue:

oOoOo

"So, by turning the scene back around on them, I believe that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker will break out of their "Monty Python" induced program loop." Prowl sat in Optimus Prime's office, finishing up his report to the Autobot leader. "I also recommend they be assigned extra duty equal to the duty time missed by the Autobots who were the victims of these pranks, plus the time spent cleaning up their messes, added to the time spent in medbay under Ratchet's laser scalpel. By my calculations, they should be on extra duty for approximately four months, unless our CMO is feeling particularly vengeful. I returned the film, and placed all "Monty Python" titles on the "banned" list. All of the mechanical swallows ran out of power, and have been disassembled."

Optimus Prime scanned the contents of Prowl's datapad report. He ticked off each point with a stylus, added a few notes, and then fixed his second-in-command with a steady gaze. "Good work, Prowl, but there's still the matter of that berserk Rabbit. It's dangerous. Wheeljack is still in stasis-lock, so we can't find out how to shut it down." Prime paused.

Prowl allowed a smug smile to light his facial planes, the second one that day. "Oh, I asked Skyfire to run a little errand for me." He crossed his arms under his chestplate, still smiling. This has been a very, very good day.

oOoOo

"Rumble, report!"

"Megatron, there's a vehicle out there! It's too small to be an Autobot, but there are no humans around it either." Rumble looked up from the scope that peered out from their temporary espionage base in the desert far south of Autobot headquarters. "What should we do?"

"Idiot!" snapped Megatron, striding over to loom behind Rumble. "Scan for weapons."

"None, Megatron."

"Energon signal?"

"Negative, Megatron. It appears to be frozen, actually"

Starscream sneered, pulling the scan up for display on the main computer screen. "It's hardly a threat, then!" He pointed to the visual image detailing the small size of the white vehicle. "Mighty Megatron is afraid of a toy! A tiny sitting target!"

"Megatron is afraid of nothing!" snapped the silver-white Decepticon leader. He strode over to the main console, viciously slamming Starscream aside. Punching the door control, he ordered, "Thrust, bring it inside. Maybe we can make some use of it."

"As you command, Megatron."

The screams recorded from the transmitter placed on the Rabbit's dashboard were music to the Autobots' audios.

-Fin-


End file.
